


Bah, Humbug!

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Spirit, Crack Fic, Gen, Rude Christmas songs, humbug, weasley pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Filch, that rotter, is ruining Christmas by taking down the decorations as fast as students put them up. Fred and George decide to force some Christmas spirit on the old caretaker, whether he likes it or not. Hilarity and chaos ensues.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Marauders Advent 2020





	Bah, Humbug!

**Author's Note:**

> My character was George Weasley, and my prompt was 'bah, humbug!'.
> 
> Many thanks to my alpha and beta who shall remain nameless until after reveals!

* * *

  
“Oi! Filch! What do you think you're doing?”

“Leave those alone!”

“You grinch!”

**“** Bloody kids! Bloody decorations!” 

The irascible caretaker stormed along a corridor, tearing Christmas decorations down and stuffing them in a sack, heedless of the students’ objections. One particularly brave — if foolish — second-year Hufflepuff darted forward and attempted to pull the sack from Filch’s hands. 

“Back off, you, or you’ll be in detention for a year!” he growled, fixing the student with a glare so fierce that she paled and scurried away immediately.

George was watching from an alcove, Fred close behind him. “It’s the same every year,” he remarked to his brother. “Grumpy old bastard goes around the castle, pulling down the decorations almost as fast as students put them up. I don’t know why Dumbledore hasn’t put his foot down about it.”

“Who knows why Dumbledore does anything?” Fred answered. “Or why he _doesn’t,_ in this case. You'd think he'd at least intervene this year, since we're hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

“Maybe if Dumbledore isn’t going to do anything about it, we should,” George suggested.

“Great idea! But what?”

The brothers fell silent, contemplating possibilities. Filch hurried past them, his sack now overflowing with tinsel, baubles, and figurines charmed to sing Christmas carols. Their muffled warbling could still be heard from their final resting place as the caretaker dragged his ill-gotten bounty behind him.

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” a student called after him in disgust.

“Bah! Humbug!” Filch spat as he disappeared around a corner.

“Bah, humbug? What’s that a reference to?” Fred asked. “It sounds familiar.”

“I dunno. Let’s ask Hermione. She’ll know.”

“She knows _everything,”_ Fred agreed. They stepped out from the alcove and headed off in search of her.  
  


* * *

“It’s a line from a muggle book,” Hermione explained, as they sat before the fire in the Gryffindor common room. _“A Christmas Carol,_ by Charles Dickens. It’s about a grumpy old man named Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s wealthy, but a miser, and hates Christmas.”

“That sounds just like Filch—minus the wealth, that is,” George said. “What happens to the old coot?” 

“He is visited by his dead business partner, who warns him he’ll suffer a cursed afterlife unless he listens to three ghosts who will appear before him that night,” Hermione said. “The ghosts show him his past, present and future, and the visions terrify him so much that when he wakes on Christmas morning, he is a changed man and resolves to be a better person from then on.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” George grinned. “Come on, Gred. We’ve got things to do.”

“What are you up to?” she asked them suspiciously.

“Nothing,” the twins chorused. Getting up, they hurried off to their dorm room to plot.

“Could we send the ghosts after Filch?” Fred pondered thoughtfully. “I bet Peeves would be willing to go annoy him for a bit. Although, I don’t think he’d be capable of doing any scaring. The Bloody Baron, though—” 

“The Baron wouldn’t do it,” George said, shaking his head. “Anyway, we need something subtler.”

“Yeah. Something everyone can get into the spirit of."

“We’ll have to keep thinking. But whatever it is, we need to come up with it fast. Christmas is only a few weeks away.”  
  


* * *

  
Several days later, Fred and George were walking down one of the corridors when they passed a suit of armour. It began bellowing out _“O Come All Ye Faithful,”_ but it didn’t know all the words, and would hum through the bits it didn’t. George stopped Fred a few paces past the suit as his ears picked up on something. “Listen,” he said. Backing up until he was standing in front of the suit of armour, he leaned closer.

_“Oh, sing, choir of anuses_

_Fart in exaltation_

_O come, O come, ye bean-smelling odour_

_Come and behold the smell…”_

“Peeves, that ratbag,” Fred said in amusement, shaking his head.

“But it’s perfect, Gred! Rude Christmas songs!” George exclaimed, seizing his brother’s arms. “What if we can get _everyone_ singing them? It would really burn Filch’s arse, he’s annoyed enough by Peeves doing it.”

“But I thought we were going to give Filch a bit of Christmas spirit?” Fred said.

“We _will!_ Rude spirit!”

“I like it, Forge. How will we do it?”

“Maybe in a sweet,” George mused thoughtfully, tapping his chin. After a moment, he brightened. “Bah, humbug!” he exclaimed.

“Come again?”

_“Humbugs,_ Gred! We’ll use humbugs! If we can modify the charms we have for the Skiving Snackbox items, we could create one that will compel anyone who eats them to burst out in festive, rude song at random!”

“Brilliant, Forge!” Fred grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”  
  


* * *

A week before Christmas, their prototype was ready for testing. As usual, the twins made themselves the guinea pigs. Hidden away in a disused classroom, George took the lid off the small tin they were keeping the charmed humbugs in. They each reached in, took a sweet, and popped them into their mouths, sucking away with abandon.

Twenty minutes later, the sweets they’d eaten had dissolved and nothing had happened. “It’s not strong enough,” Fred began. “Maybe we need to—” his face suddenly went red and he coughed before blurting out, _“Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg—”_

George laughed and clapped as Fred shouted out the muggle version of _Jingle Bells_ Harry had taught them. Moments later, he, too, was turning red and coughing as another muggle song burst forth from his lips. _“Deck the halls with gasoline, falalalala, lalalala…”_

“Those muggle songs are excellent,” George said, once he had control of his voice again. “I think the delayed reaction is good; more of a surprise that way.” 

“You’re right,” Fred agreed. “Let’s start distributing them among the students. We’ll recruit our usual helpers. Free samples, then set a price?”

“Gred! Where’s your Christmas spirit?” George asked, a horrified expression on his face. “Don’t be a Scrooge. We’ll distribute them _all_ free of charge and absorb the cost ourselves.”

“You’re right, Forge. Giving them away is the right thing to do. But I’ll have you know I thoroughly object to you comparing me to old Ebenezer, It reminds me of Filch.”

“Sorry, Gred. You’re definitely not a Scrooge, or a Filch. You’re much nicer and better looking.”

“Of course I’m not, and of course I am. Now let’s go make more of these little beauties.”

They got to their feet, George pocketing the tin, and walked out of the classroom arm in arm.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next few days, as Fred and George's humbugs were distributed among the student body, general disruption in the corridors and classrooms spiked alarmingly - so much so that Snape issued a whole third-year Potions class a four hour detention scrubbing cauldrons after half the students spent the lesson blurting out rude songs. 

To the twins’ enormous delight, Filch became nearly apoplectic with rage. His repeated complaints to Dumbledore and the other professors had proved fruitless, as he was told time and time again that there was nothing the faculty could do; they could not find the source of the problem and so were unable to ban it. 

In despair, the caretaker had taken to hiding in his office with only Mrs Norris for company. He ventured out only after curfew, unless he was needed urgently. However, that didn’t stop the braver students from lurking outside Filch’s door, eating the charmed sweets and casting a _Sonorous_ on themselves to amplify the tunes the treats inspired. The effects only lasted five minutes or so; but nevertheless, it was enough to keep Filch out of everyone’s hair in the leadup to the holiday.

Other students took the opportunity afforded by his absence to replace all the decorations he had previously confiscated, causing the corridors to become festive and cheerful once again. In fact, some corridors had been so enthusiastically adorned that it was almost impossible to navigate them without getting tangled in a stream of tinsel, or being blinded by the light reflecting off all the shiny baubles. Students attempting to find their way had to go along in groups, holding hands tightly to ensure no one got into difficulty.

Finally, the Christmas Eve feast was upon them. Everyone was gathered in the Great Hall, waiting for Dumbledore to give his speech prior to the food being served. The volume inside the cavernous room was much louder than it usually was on this day of the year, thanks to many of the students having saved their humbugs for dinnertime. Snatches of songs floated across the tables, punctuated with raucous laughter.

_“We three Kings of Leicester square, selling ladies' underwear..”_

_“I wrote you a letter and come see you twice, you worn out geriatric old fart, you forgot me fuckin’ bike..”_

_“We wish you a farty Christmas…”_

Fred and George were watching the professors’ table carefully. Dumbledore took a seat, glanced at the table, and smiled before reaching for something and popping it into his mouth. The twins exchanged a grin and then turned back to face front, waiting to see what would happen.

Soon, the headmaster stood and made his way to the lectern, waiting patiently for the chatter and snatches of singing to taper off. Once silence had descended, Dumbledore smiled, nodded, and began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the holidays are upon us once again. It has been a busy, and exciting, few months. We are making new friends—” he nodded towards the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students scattered around the room “—and our champions have been preparing for their second task. Tomorrow is the Yule Ball, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we will expect those of you who are attending to be on their best behaviour. Now, I’m sure you are all just as famished as I, and the elves have prepared a scrumptious spread, so without further ado—”

Dumbledore suddenly went red, and began to cough. Behind him, several professors half rose from their seats, concern written over their faces, but the headmaster waved them back. He seemed to be struggling mightily to hold something in as he bent over the lectern. The Great Hall became deathly silent as every pair of eyes at the house tables watched him avidly.

Suddenly, his valiant battle lost, Dumbledore burst out with, _“The weather outside is frightful, but the beer inside’s delightful. Since we’ve no place to go, let it flow, let it flow, let it flow!”_

The Hall erupted into laughter, cheers, and whistles as the professors leapt up in a futile attempt to gain control of the situation; while the students stood on the benches to get a better view or leaned on their friends for support as they guffawed.

_“Oh, we show no signs of stopping—!”_

McGonagall attempted to cast a _Finite Incantatum_ but was unsuccessful, while Flitwick stood on his chair, waving his arms and calling for silence and calm in his squeaky voice. 

_“The lights are turned way down low, let it flow, let it flow, let it flow!”_

Madam Pomfrey attempted to give Dumbledore a goblet of water, but he was incapable of drinking while under the effects of the charm.

_“When we finally drink it dry, oh how we’ll hate to go back to the store—!”_

Finally, Snape waved his wand and cast a silencing charm on the headmaster, glaring all the while. The sounds issuing from Dumbledore’s mouth finally ceased, although his lips continued to move as the charm forced him to finish the song.

“Return to your seats. _Now.”_

Faced with Snape’s terrifying scowl and soft, threatening tone, the room gradually fell quiet, broken only by the occasional snigger or snort as the students attempted to get themselves under control.

“You’ve done it now, you idiots,” Hermione hissed quietly at the twins from across the table. “You’ll have detention until you graduate!”

George shrugged and winked. “We’ll be fine, Hermione, you’ll see.”

Meanwhile, the charm had finally worn off and Dumbledore was drinking the goblet of water Madam Pomfrey had tried to give him earlier. He turned and wandered back to the professors’ table, his hand hovering over the wood before grasping something and picking it up. Returning to the lectern, he held up a small bowl, tilting it to reveal the contents.

“It would seem I have discovered the source of the alternative Christmas carols that we have been hearing over the last few days,” he announced calmly. “I would advise anyone who has any humbugs in their possession to refrain from eating them, or from giving them to anyone else. As for the creator or creators of this particular item, I ask that you cease making or distributing them, now that Christmas is upon us.” His eyes roved over the tables, settling for a moment on the twins, before continuing around the room and finally looking forward again.

“Now, barring any further interruptions, I believe we are well overdue for dinner. Happy Christmas, and enjoy the feast.” Dumbledore returned to his seat, and at his cue, the food and favours appeared on the tables.

Fred donned a paper hat, then picked up a cracker and held it out to George to pull. 

“Bah, humbug,” George laughed as he reached out to grasp the end.


End file.
